The Blood Is the Life

by Sharon K Gilbert

  As the coach pulled away, a second spirit being, clad in human flesh, materialised on the seat opposite.

  “Your interference begins to annoy me, Brother,” Raziel Grigor told him. “Why is she so important to you? If you love her, take her!”

  “I do not use human women in such a way.”

  “Pity. I’m sure she’d be worth it. Have you no desires, Sama? Do Eve’s daughters not entice? What visions did you mean, when you spoke to the duchess? Why do you mention snow?”

  “Your many sins have corrupted your ability to foresee, haven’t they, Raza?” Romanov asked. “You are blind as well as toothless.”

  The Watcher began to laugh. “Do the fools on Redwing’s round table realise that you sit amongst them as a spy? I suspect not. No, no, do not fear, Brother. I’ve no plans to turn informer on one of my own, despite your treachery.”

  “Would you have preferred that I kill you, Raza?” Anatole asked the other. “Surely, five thousand years imprisonment is preferable to death.”

  “Five millennia all alone, unable see my brethren? My children died whilst I slept, Sama! Your regrets do nothing to assuage my anger! Perhaps, I should do to you what you did unto me! Force you to watch those you love suffer and die!”

  The Watcher known as Anatole Romanov lifted his cane, causing the sigils carved upon it to glow red. “Try it, Raza, and you will hear me speak these names. Is that what you want? To die at last?”

  Raziel Grigor shouted curses in ancient Sumerian, causing the coach’s interior to brighten as if fire consumed it. In seconds, he’d vanished, leaving Romanov alone. Brushing sparks from his coat, Samael gazed out the window into the night. He closed his eyes, communing with others of his kind.

  A voice spoke inside his mind. A summons.

  “I hear and obey,” he said, and the entire coach and team vanished from the material world.

  It was after nine before Charles returned to Queen Anne House, and Elizabeth still slept on the drawing room sofa where the prince had laid her three hours earlier. The earl arrived with his cousin, having receiving a telegram from Reid. Aubrey appeared distraught and unsettled as the two men entered the mansion, but his aunt failed to notice.

  Victoria met them in the foyer, her manner uncharacteristically scattered. Without explanation, she immediately pulled her two nephews into the library, shutting the door behind her.

  “Elizabeth is sleeping, but there is much to tell you. The prince was here. Anatole. I’ve no idea what he said to her, but it struck her hard. She’s been asleep ever since.”

  “Tory, what do you mean?” the detective asked.

  “He claimed he’d come to invite her to sup with him this evening, but I insisted she remain home,” Victoria answered, pacing about the room.

  “I’m sure that went over well,” Aubrey said, opening the library doors and motioning to the butler. “Miles, would you bring us a decanter of our uncle’s Scotch? Tory, will you join us?”

  “No, none for me. I need to keep my head.”

  “Bring three glasses, Miles, just in case our aunt changes her mind,” Aubrey finished. The butler left to follow orders, and Charles looked in quickly on Beth. She slept peacefully, and he had no wish to waken her, so he returned to the library, where his aunt and cousin sat near the fire. “I’ll carry her up in a little while. It’s been a very long day. I’m afraid the murder Reid called me to investigate is connected to Redwing.”

  “Is it this Ripper fiend again?” Tory asked as she fiddled with her cigarette case.

  “Not directly, no. She’s a woman who recently defected from the enemy’s ranks. Susanna Morgan.”

  “I should have taken her to my home,” Paul muttered, wiping at his face wearily. “Instead, I left her at a public place.”

  “You did your best to help her,” Sinclair argued. “It isn’t your fault that Morgan chose to leave the shelter of the Carlton. Your own operative told you as much. He tried to stop her, but she refused to listen. At least, now, she’s out of their reach.”

  “I just pray she sought the Lord’s forgiveness before they tortured her,” he whispered. “Why would they do that, Charles? Do you think they sought information, or was it mere spite?”

  “We’ll never know.”

  The butler entered, carrying the whisky decanter and glasses.

  “A large for me,” the earl said dismally. “What a hellish day.

  Charles held up his hand. “Nothing for me, Miles. Thank you. Why would Anatole stop by here on the pretense of taking Beth to supper?”

  Victoria’s hands shook as she tried to light the smoke. Sinclair did it for her. “Thank you, Charles. Perhaps, I will have a small whisky,” she said, her voice cracking. “Anatole Romanov is a mystery to me. I consider myself a fine judge of character, but his manner is inscrutable! I cannot tell if he is genuine or merely a consummate actor. It’s why I tried to stop her from entering the carriage, but she simply refused to listen!”

  “She sat with him inside his coach? For how long? Do you think he may have harmed her? What did he say to her?” Charles asked, taking to his feet.

  “Calm down, Charles,” Aubrey cautioned. “She’s fine. You said so yourself.”

  Tory took a long drink of the whisky. “I’ve no idea what he said, but when he carried her inside, she looked ill. In fact, she’d fainted.”

  Without another word, Sinclair bolted for the door, fearful now regarding his love’s condition, but Aubrey held him back. “Listen to the rest of our aunt’s story before you run back in there, Charles. Go on, Tory.”

  Their aunt tried to put the cigarette into her mouth, but her hands refused to work. “Dash it all! I have not felt so helpless in a long, long time! Truly, I have not!” She threw the cigarette into the fire. “I sent word to your uncle, and he’s assigned one his agents to keep watch on the Langham, where the prince often stays, but is it enough? Charles, did I hear you say that you’ve hired someone to act as her bodyguard? Do tell me I am not mistaken in that.”

  “I’ve hired an excellent man, Tory. An inspector friend of mine. Arthur France. He and his family are moving into Haimsbury House tomorrow, in fact. He’s probably packing up as we speak. Tory, you did all you could.”

  “Did I? If so, then why do I feel like such a failure? He might have driven off with her, and then what? It’s all my fault for trusting him in the first place!”

  Charles walked over to her, taking the whisky glass and placing it on a small table. “Come here,” he said, drawing her into his strong arms. To the shock of both men, Victoria Stuart began to weep, burying her head in Charles’s shoulder.

  “Charles, I am so sorry! I should have been more careful. More clever! You place your trust in me, and I simply fall apart. What a stupid woman I am!”

  Sinclair held her close, looking at his cousin overtop Victoria’s left shoulder. Aubrey had never seen his aunt cry, and he had no idea what to do.

  “Paul, would you mind checking on Elizabeth for me?” the detective asked.

  Feeling utterly useless, the earl nodded and left the room.

  Charles wiped his aunt’s tears and kissed her cheek. “Beth is independent and headstrong, and she sometimes makes choices that are counterproductive if not dangerous, but she is unharmed.”

  The elder Stuart lowered her eyes, her posture stiff as she continued to weep.

  “Look at me now, Aunt,” he said, lifting her chin. “Remember, you promised to be a mother to me? Well, as your son, I tell you that you are an incredible parent. You are bright, energetic, and wise; but most of all, you selflessly serve those whom you love. Since the moment she was born, you’ve been more of a mother to Elizabeth than the woman who bore her. And you have shared that same selfless devotion with me. I’ve come to love you dearly, Aunt. I hope you know that. And I trust you with my darling Beth and with our unborn child. Victoria S
tuart, you are the most remarkable woman I know outside of Elizabeth, but most of her personality was formed by you. Believe me when I tell you, that no one could have done more.”

  After taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and kissed his hand. “Thank you, Charles. Thank you! You are so like your father. He would have done that. Forgive me for being so very useless, but when I saw Romanov carry her in, all I could think of was that he’d done something to her. Then, when I realised she was all right, I began to think of all the things that could have happened. Charles, my dear, you carry a heavy burden, but you do so with great compassion and quiet strength. During the four years that I kept watch over Beth in Paris, she seldom met with danger. I think Redwing was waiting—for you perhaps. For this year. Oh, don’t listen to me! I’m prattling on and on as if I’ve lost all reason. But thank you, Nephew. Thank you very much.”

  The earl returned, quietly shutting the doors. “She asked for you, Charles. Oh, and Mrs. Smith’s prepared us a late supper.”

  “I’m sorry your friend was killed,” Victoria told her nephew. “Women are pawns to Redwing. I suppose her usefulness was at an end.”

  Charles stood. “I’ll take Beth up, and then I plan to enjoy my last night here as a single man. Paul, are you up for a game of chess after we eat?”

  “If you’re prepared to lose.”

  “You do know that I was Cambridge champion three years’ running?” Sinclair asked as he left the library.

  Victoria opened the cigarette case, but quickly snapped it shut again. “I shall quit these wretched things. Are you all right, Paul?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. I only wish I’d done more to protect Morgan. That’s all.”

  “You look quite tired, my dear,” she said, reaching for his hand.

  “I’m weary to the bone, Aunt. Since Elizabeth returned in late September, the enemy has been relentless. They nip at our heels, and send us running like frightened sheep. If I did not trust in Jesus Christ for comfort and strength—if I did not believe that He is still in control of this world—all of this would surely drive me mad. Look, it’s up to us to keep Charles and Elizabeth well and unharmed. He is as much a target as Beth.”

  “Yes, I know it. Your cousin seldom thinks of himself, I’ve noticed. Another way that he is like you. I’ve a strong sense that we’ve not seen the worst.” She sighed. “But let’s leave off worrying for tonight. Shall we go to the dining hall?”

  Aubrey kissed her cheek. “I dearly love you, Victoria.”

  She kissed him in return. “Yes, and I love you as well.”

  “Even if I lose a game to my cousin?”

  “Even then,” she answered, smiling.

  Supper finished at ten, and Charles sat with the earl, enjoying a brandy before a cheerful blaze. “It’s beginning to look like snow,” he said. “I’ve installed two boilers at Haimsbury House and radiators in the main apartments. It makes for a more even heat, I’m told. Beth’s room here is always cold, even with the windows shut.”

  “I’ve noticed that, as well, but Connor’s old room remains warm, I wonder why that is,” the earl remarked. “Despite the fire’s being always lit, I can sometimes see my breath in Beth’s chamber. Charles, it occurs to me that this may be more than air temperature.”

  “What do you mean?” Sinclair asked, pouring himself a cup of strong coffee from the tray of provisions left by Miles.

  “Spiritual visitations often leave strange cold spots. As if the apparitions steal all heat from a room.”

  Charles felt a strange tickle inside his mind at hearing this—a sliver of memory trying to emerge like a harmful splinter from an old wound. “Cold,” he muttered. “My nursery was often cold. Freezing cold. Even in summer.”

  Aubrey sat forward, his face filled with curiosity. “What do you mean? Are you regaining your memory?”

  “Perhaps. I’m not sure.”

  Paul rose and tugged at the bellrope. In a moment, Lester arrived at the door. “Is Mr. Kepelheim about?” asked the earl.

  The first footman nodded. “He is, sir. I believe he speaks with Lady Victoria, in her apartment. Shall I fetch him, sir?”

  “Yes, if you don’t mind—oh, and ask my aunt to join us also. We’ve something important to discuss.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Paul returned to the fireside. “Charles, I know of no other man better suited to aid you in recovering these memories. Martin has vast experience with the supernatural forces, but he also knew you quite well before your disappearance.”

  “So, he’s said, but Paul I’m not sure these fleeting visions of mine are genuine memory. I really think we should wait, especially with all that’s going on right now.”

  “But that’s precisely why we should pursue it! My father once told me that the best way to retrieve information you thought lost is to occupy your mind with something else. Perhaps, that is why you’re recovering bits of your old memories now—because of your fears for Beth and the baby. Trust me. Martin will know how to tease these elusive childhood events from your mind. He once helped me to recall incidents I experienced in Austria, when I was held captive there. Oh, I hear him. Never mind. I’ll share that adventure with you another time.”

  The tailor’s distinctive voice could be heard speaking softly with Victoria Stuart, and before two ticks of the clock passed, the pair of them stepped through the doorway.

  “I hear the chess match went to our marquess,” the tailor began in his easy manner. “Here, Tory, sit near the earl. He looks rather glum to me. Lester tells me that we’ve been summoned. Is the board set for a rematch? If so, Lady Della will wish she’d not gone to bed.”

  “No rematch. Not tonight, anyway,” Aubrey answered, grinning. “Actually, I’d hoped that you might demonstrate your skills, my friend. Charles has begun to remember.”

  Kepelheim’s light eyes rounded. “Is this true? Do you summon up the past?”

  “If you’re going to begin a session, I’ll say goodnight, Martin,” Tory told them. “These often stretch on for hours, and I’ve a great deal to do tomorrow. I’ll see you all at breakfast.”

  “No, dear lady. Stay, won’t you?” Kepelheim implored. “I’m sure you’re quite weary, but our young marquess requires all his family near him tonight. Would you remain? Please?”

  “Very well,” she said, returning to her chair. “I’ll take one of those brandies, if you’re pouring, Paul.”

  Charles set down the coffee cup, his brows arched high. “Session? Just how long will this take?”

  Kepelheim drew his chair close. “It’s hard to say. It isn’t a formal session, no, and shouldn’t be too stressful—at least I pray it is not. I merely want to ask you some questions. There is a new philosophy employed by certain alienists called twilight sleep therapy. Others call it hypnosis after the Greek god Hypnos. Now, I shan’t be using this precise method, for in truth, I’m not well versed in it, but I shall endeavour to help you relax. And once there, I shall talk. Just talk. Are you willing to try?”

  “Yes, I suppose so. Will it hurt?”

  “No, not at all, though some memories may bring painful associations. If it looks as if our session might bring too many of those, then we can discontinue it. All right?”

  “Yes, all right. So, what do I do?” he asked.

  “You need only close your eyes,” Kepelheim said. “Paul, could you pour Charles a glass of brandy? Make it a large one.” Aubrey poured a full glass of the liquor and handed it to his cousin. Charles started to sip, but the tailor shook his head. “No, my friend, you must gulp it all down at once. A pity with such a lovely vintage, but necessary. It is meant to shock your system.”

  Sinclair shrugged and tipped back the glass, drinking ten ounces in one large swallow. He wiped his mouth and set down the empty snifter. “Now what?”

  “Well, I am impressed,” Kepelheim laughed. �
��You’ve come a long way since the castle. Your Stuart blood remembers its natural capacity for strong drink, I believe. Now, let’s see what your Stuart mind can recover. Lie on this sofa and close your eyes. Breathe normally and listen to my voice, trying to concentrate only on that.”

  The detective did as instructed, letting his head rest against a plump cushion, eyes shut. He could hear the crackle of the wood fire and the regular ticking of the mantel clock.

  “Now, Charles, I am going to begin by telling you a story. I want you to listen, allowing yourself to enter the tale, but if this story gives rise to a memory, then you must interrupt me. Is that clear?”

  He nodded. “Yes. It’s clear.”

  “Good. Now, this tale begins in 1859 at Christmas. I was much younger in those days, as you might guess. A slimmer and relatively handsome fellow of twenty-eight. I’d just spent six months in Vienna on behalf of the circle and had come to Carlisle to recuperate from an injury. I’d fallen down a ravine and disturbed the alignment of my spine, and the doctors insisted I do nothing but relax for three months. The Haimsbury family seat, Rose House, is nestled in the quiet of the Eden River Valley, on the bluff of a broad hill overlooking the Vale of Mallerstang, not far from Pendragon Castle. Uther himself is said to have built that old refuge, and it is also said that he and a hundred of his men died there. Locals claim Uther haunts the stones and the well nearby, for Saxons had poisoned that well, and it was this which killed the king. It is a history often told to you by your father, and you even had books on it. That Christmas, it had snowed, leaving a thick blanket of white all along the valley, and as I arrived at your home, your father’s men had just installed a magnificent spruce in the main drawing room for the family to decorate.”

  Sinclair’s thoughts drifted into the past, and it was as if he travelled backwards in time on iridescent snowflakes, for as he relaxed, he could hear voices all around, slowly becoming louder and louder, chattering like welcome ghosts, and he fell into a waking dream...